A simple belief
by Cirro
Summary: shaken beliefs and a conversation outside of a pub.


She said, "don't listen to them. Don't you ever listen to them." Her eyes were a blazing amber, and she gripped his chin hard enough to bruise. Sanji looked at her and saw determination and confidence, saw kindness and a love so bright he nearly wanted to cry. She was perfect, and he didn't know why she tried to help him so much but she did.

He held her gaze for a moment before pulling away. He had never been the brave type. But she stood in front of him still, staring at him through the dimming light of dusk with an expression that twisted her lips downward. He looked at her and thought of mornings and evenings when she was silhouetted by the breaching light, hair mussed and with bags under her eyes after a long fight against the sea's storms. He thought of her in a torn wedding dress, with blood splatters on the hem and a snarl on her features as she summoned lightning to her will. He thought of late nights when he would stop by her room with a cup of tea, only to find that she had fallen asleep on her map, ink stains on her fingers and smearing across her cheek. He looked at her and thought: _she's beautiful_.

He thought: _she's beautiful_, and couldn't bring himself to look back up.

"Sanji."

He closed his eyes briefly, tried to breathe evenly through the thick haze of alcohol and cigarette smoke painted against the brick walls of the island's main pub. Raucous laughter echoed from the beneath the backdoor, and he barely noticed the way his nails bit into his palm, barely noticed the way his throat closed up, too intent on the grating sound of that _fucker's _voice. Blood, red hot and searing, dripped from his clenched fists. He should have broken that fucker's neck. He could have, easily. But he hesitated because-

-_he believed him. He believed him even though he knew it wasn't true, he didn't come all this way to be wrong, he couldn't be wrong, he wasn't allowed to be wrong, but he _could _be and _he had believed him _if only for a second but it was a second that lasted eighty-five days and a thousand stuttering heartbeats, a second that lasted almost a decade and cost a leg and a dream and a debt that could never be repaid_ _and_-

A shaky inhale.

He said, "I'm fine, Nami."

He wasn't terribly surprised to find his cheek burning with the imprint of her hand.

"You're an idiot, Sanji."

He said nothing.

"You're an idiot." Her voice was shaky now, quieter, filled with a sadness that reminded him of a brand in the guise of a tattoo, and he felt his heart break for her. He opened his mouth to apologize, to brush off the entire incident as another stupid fight, to laugh and tell her she was right before offering to escort her back to the inn where they were staying. Instead, he felt the gentle brush of fingers over his cheek, making him snap his mouth shut, almost jerking away in shock.

She said, "you're an idiot, Sanji. But you're not an idiot for believing in your dream."

He thought of her kneeling in the dirt, tears mixed with anger and despair and teetering at the edge of hopelessness, a knife clutched in her blood slicked fingers as if they could save her. He thought of her looking up at them, a plea she so desperately wanted to say long ago finally slipping past her lips. He thought about how close she was to losing her dream, to losing freedom and the wide open spaces the world had to offer because she had almost forgotten to believe. He reached up to clasp his hand over hers, cherishing the warmth from her fingers against his skin.

A steady exhale.

He said, "You're right, Nami." and believed it. She gave him one of her more affectionate smiles, and he thought again of mornings and evenings and late nights filled with tea.

"You know my world map isn't going to be complete without the All Blue, right? So you better find it soon." She flicked his nose gently, a teasing smirk on her lips. And instead of all the usual things he could have responded with, he looked at her and said, "thank you," squeezing her hand one more time in gratitude before letting go.

He watched her walk ahead of him, hair swaying gently with the evening breeze, and thought: _she's beautiful_.


End file.
